to me you'll always be beautiful and dancin' away
by ten.years.only.with.you
Summary: He is supposed to be the devil, not her; she's always been the sacrifice. PQ


She thinks that of everyone that lays eyes on her, he is the most surprised. She has a ring in her nose and pink in her hair (and not the good cotton candy color) and black clothes (that are too _not Quinn Fabray_) and everyone jumps out of her eyeline. Except him. A grimace is wrought on his bee stung lips, green eyes flashing in anger because she knows is supposed to be golden, not a fallen angel.

[-]

Stamping combat boot shouts into the tile, cigarette plumes floating above head and the world gritty under her fingernails, she has never felt so different. It's probably because for the first time in a while, she is noticed. And all she had to do was to change everything.

(Except herself.)

It just sucks that he would be the one to catch her in between lies. The remains of her holy lips breathing curse words like gospel as she stands there, cloved in black silk and filthy strands of once enviable locks falling in her ivy eyes as she declares that Quinn Fabray is no longer. The words taste wrong in her mouth.

[-]

He has never been a gentle person, so when he slams her up against a locker and demands an explanation, breaking her cigarettes one by one with his calloused olive fingers, his mouth so close to her ear the heat makes her unnerved, she shuts her eyes and savors the moment that he whispers she is better for God sake and that she just looks fucking terrible with this hair and these clothes and that stud in her nose.

(She runs home and sits naked in the shower feeling the hot water run pulses down her pale back and cries until she can't not anymore cursing him for seeing her so well despite her disguise.)

[-]

Once upon a time he loved her.

In the deepest recesses of her heart, she plays out scenarios where she is still golden and he is the devil because she wonders if she is hard enough to suit this role reversal. Each time he saunters by and she watches him walk away without looking back (at her, at her, at her), she knows that she can't.

[-]

She almost wants to thank Mr. Schuester when he yells at her. Everyone else is so complacent.

The morning she came downstairs to the table with her new hair and new clothes and new Quinn Fabray-ness and threw her bowl of fruit and granola on the floor, her mother poured herself another "cranberry" juice and waved her fingers with ease as if, this like so many other things, was not her problem to deal with. Rather Judy downed the crystal glass and Quinn promptly smashed it in the sink and they continued on with the meal.

Mr. Schue yells at her to get her act together and be herself and ya ya ya and she hates him so much that she almost cries because he sees her, he knows her, believes in her. And for eighteen years, her mother has yet to do that and he has done it since she was sixteen and had the belly the size of a watermelon and let her sing the lead at Sectionals last year even though it was rigged and didn't flip out when she tried to sabotage Nationals by attempting to cancel out Finchel. No, no, Mr. Schue and his fucking vest collection appreciates Quinn Fabray and her soft voice and her supposedly bitchy attitude and thinks that she is more than what she appears. And he's right.

(If only she would let him be that is.)

[-]

She sneaks into the auditorium to listen to the singing. It feels like home and comfort and all the things that you are supposed to get from a family. Her family. This collection of misfits and people she would rather run down with a tractor, but they are all hers.

Humming along with the soprano, she allows a moment of weakness and sings softly to herself because even though she is cross legged and hiding, she still feels like she has some part with her parted coral lips and out of tune wobbling shoe to the sound and for her, for now, that's all she can permit.

[-]

If she were going to get behind any political campaign, it would not be Sue's.

(Truth be told, glee is the only thing that has kept her afloat for this long. And now without it, she can feel the water closing up into her lungs.)

[-]

The day that she sees Shelby in the hallway, she ducks behind a set of lockers and skips math and smokes 2 packs of cigarettes and drinks whiskey out of the bottle. Sitting drunk in the August heat on the football field bleachers blows. She's pretty sure that it can't get any worse until she stumbles through the parking lot and slams into Puck.

He's wearing the blue collared shirt that she love[d] and he's got a piece of paper in his left hand and a box of crayons and the keys to the truck in the other. And he hangs his head when she lifts hers and she dares him, _dares him_ to say where he is going and who he is going to see. Because the last time he wore that shirt, she had cocoa powder in her forgotten golden hair and his hands were on the slight bump growing under her ivory lace dress, and Finn walked in and they pretended that they weren't in love when really the baking euphemism was more accurate than it ever had been before.

She knows she looks like shit now. At least she reflects the inside better now than she did then.

[-]

When Shelby tells her to clean up her act and gets thisclosetoherface, Quinn almost shoves her into the desk and screams because really what does she know about glee and Puck and Rachel Berry and a lost kingdom. This woman took her child.

(She pushes the voice of reason further below the surface. Puck's breath on her cheek as he whispers the words she begged him not to: _We _could_ keep her. _And they could have.)

[-]

In all reality, kind of the worse part is when she sees the picture of Puck and Beth because Jesus, she doesn't look a thing like him. She is all Quinn Fabray and her Quinn Fabray-ness. The best parts of it with that perfectly porcelain skin and ivy eyes and swirls of golden locks of hair and there is no part of him to ruin her. But if he hadn't ruined her to begin with then, there wouldn't even be a Beth with all of the Quinn Fabray-ness and that thought is unbearable so much so that she looks deeper into the photo and gazes hard and then she finally notices how Beth's mouth turns up in a quirk on the side like her father's. Ironically, that smug smirk was what made her trip into his arms and squirm beneath his touch and leave her mouth in his collarbone.

It is the best part of him (too).

[-]

Looking in the mirror as the neon dye washes down her shoulders and over her clothing and she becomes so golden that it hurts is like watching a live execution as she bows in defeat because she can't go on being the devil when she is so not and she can't go on being the angel when she so is not. Where will that leave her then?

In her eyelet dress with a gold cross to bear around her neck standing before an altar as a living sacrifice. But at least it's for something she knows is worthwhile. It's good to fight for what she actually wants for a change.

[-]

He's got this look on his face like she has risen from the dead and been brought back to life as she walks over and stands by his side. For some reason, she feels that just being that much closer to him sparks something wild inside her that she needs to keep going on so she doesn't falter and Mr. Schue is smiling because he recognizes her for this girl and not that other one that didn't believe in herself and the music is swelling and she is actually happy and then she remembers why she is doing all this and for a moment her heartbeats out of rhythm because even her words sound like ash in between her sun stained lips.

And he looks at her like she is the devil, incredulity in his eyes and disgust in his brows and she wonders when he became Christ and she became unworthy to lie in the dirt at his feet.

[-]

But he should know better, it's better to reign in hell than serve in heaven. Even if it's called hell for a reason.


End file.
